It’s the last day of summer, but in reality, it ended long ago.

Now that George thought about it, it probably ended many years ago, back when he was still a child, when summer lasted forever and his parents never argued about who would have to take him next week. He hadn’t really noticed the signs back then, or maybe he had, and he just didn’t want to think about it. They were very small, after all.

Mum would make food most days of the week. The rest, she couldn’t bother to make any. Take-out worked just as well. Nobody said ‘thank you’ for the dinner, so what was the point?

Dad became quieter and quieter. In the end, he’d barely say anything unless it was about work, or dinner, or school, or the weather. Whatever he said would always turn into an argument, so what was the point?

And little Georgie was none the wiser.

Take-out was tasty and Georgie didn’t talk much with his dad anyhoo, so why bother to say anything? What was the point?

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

So it came as quite the surprise to him that one hot summer day, his mum and dad told him that dad would be moving into an apartment in a few months. He’d live with him every other week, but they’d listen to whatever he wanted.

There was no cheater. There was no violence, or yelling. There was no inciting incident.

Just two people no longer loving them, and the child who loved them both.

After that, summers were never quite the same. He’d bounce between them week-to-week, but it’s not like he ever actually had any real relationship with his parents. Not individually, at least. As a kid, he’d only ever known them as a singular, irreplaceable, immovable unit. Not a woman named Barbara Higgins, not a man named Simon Higgins: a family.

And he’d been a part of it, if only until its inevitable destruction.

Was she to blame, for inciting it, for pushing him into a corner, for demanding things he already gave?

Was he to blame, for his complicity, for his inability to change to accommodate her and their child’s needs?

But deep down inside, he knew there was no one to blame here. It would always have happened, no matter what. She would always have grown bored, and he would always have grown complicit. It was simply how it was. And maybe in a different world, in an older world, where ‘until death do us part’ was more than words, they would have stayed together, despite it all. They wouldn’t have had to love each other; merely been able to stand their connection.

However, this is not a different world. This is here, and it is now, and in this world, over half of those who marry break their vows. They’re no different. It’s normal to fall out of love—to seek greener pastures. It is only human, really. There was no way to change it. She had her right to seek it, he had his obligation to accept it.

It wasn’t your fault.

But it sure feels like it, doesn’t it?